


Until Day's Break

by Mystra_Carlile



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Gen, Hawkeye - Freeform, M/M, Origin Story, canon violence, phlint - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:31:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1338835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystra_Carlile/pseuds/Mystra_Carlile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint met Phil Coulson through unfortunate circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Clint met Agent Coulson through unfortunate circumstances.

He was working a job with his brother, Barney. After their circus had broken up, they had lived as long as they could on their meager savings and traveled to various circuses, trying to get work. No one needed acrobats. No one wanted a knife throwing act. They couldn’t even find work as clowns.

When the money ran out, they decided to use their skills another way. It started as shoplifting and pickpocketing, but quickly escalated to burglary. They made child’s play of it. Roof walking came easy to them, and their acrobatics skills made climbing down to and through windows a breeze.

They were careful. They didn’t rob the rich, they didn’t take more than what they needed to sustain themselves. They weren’t trying to get rich, just to make it through the next week.

One night, Clint climbed through a window into an apartment in a building near some governmental offices in D.C.. Barney was doing recon on another target, in case this one didn’t pan out.

As he looked around the sparse apartment, lit by moonlight streaming through the open window, Clint sighed. A bachelor, and probably one who cared more about his work than his life outside of it. He shook his head and set to work. Maybe there were some nice watches or something.

Clint was in the bathroom when he heard a noise, a sound that had been haunting his dreams since this whole burglary business started: an opening door.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, looking around himself for an exit. The bathroom window was too small for him to fit through, he would have to try for the bedroom. He eased the door open. There was a window across the room. Ten steps, open the window, climb out and swing himself over the eaves. It would take less than fifteen seconds.

He sprinted across the room and pulled at the window. It was stuck. He checked the latch, found it unlocked, and pulled at the window again. His breath was ragged. He needed to get away, Barney was depending on him to show with enough to buy their dinner. Desperately, he pulled at the window again. With a crash, it slammed open.

“Stay right where you are,” said a calm male voice behind him. “If you try to go out that window, I will taze you and use you as a footrest while I wait for the police to come pick you up.”

Clint glanced over his shoulder. The man was standing in the bedroom doorway, aiming something at him with steady hands. He was in shadow, Clint couldn’t see his face or the weapon. He lunged for the window.

When he came to, he was seated on the floor with his hands bound behind his back. there was a ringing in his ears and his head felt worse than that time he’d challenged the strongman to a fistfight. There was something patting at his forehead.

He opened his eyes, quickly closing them again and flinching away from the light.

“You’re a fool,” said the man. He was very near Clint. “And you’re damned lucky you only hit your head on the windowsill, rather than fall through it.”

Clint opened his eyes again, carefully this time, letting them adjust to the light. The man was kneeling next to him, a first aid kit beside him and a bloody rag in hand. He had kind eyes.

“You’re fixing me up?” Clint asked. “I thought you were going to use me as a footrest.”

“Changed my mind,” he said simply. He pulled a bandage from the first aid kit and applied it to Clint’s forehead. “That’s going to need stitches, but this’ll do for now.” He leaned back on his heels and looked Clint in the eyes for the first time. “How’s your head feel?”

“Like I got tased and hit my head on a windowsill.” He shook his head gently. “Why’d you change your mind?”

“I recognised you,” the man said.

“Where from?” Clint asked. The only place he could think of was the Circus, but it had been over two years since the circus closed, and who remembered some random acrobat years later?

“You were trained by a man known as Trickshot, weren’t you?”

Clint blinked. This was about Trick? “Yeah,” he acknowledged. There seemed no point in lying.

“You’re on of the Barton brothers,” the man said. “Clint, I’m guessing, though you and Barney do look quite alike.”

“Yeah, I’m Clint,” he said. How did this man know about him and Barney? His heart was pounding in his chest. “Who are you?”

“I’m Agent Coulson,” he said. “I work for an organisation called SHIELD. We work to take down super villains.”

“Barney and me arent villains,” Clint said quickly. “We just rob houses, and we never take too much.”

Coulson smiled. It started at his eyes before spreading to the corners of his mouth. Clint found himself liking that smile. “I didn’t think you were. Your friend Trick, however, has been imagining himself to be one. He’s been creating havoc in the North-West for the past couple months now. You and your brother came across my desk earlier this week as known associates.”

“Ah,” Clint said dumbly. He felt like he should have questions to ask, but couldn’t think of any. Barney would know what to ask. “That sounds like him.”

“Does it?” Coulson asked.

“Yeah,” Clint said. He considered for a moment before going on. Maybe if he was forthcoming he would be allowed to leave. “Trick was always talking about how he was better than the circus. Like he could make a difference. I always figured him for the hero type, but it’s not too surprising that he decided to go villain instead.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, it’s not like Trick was ever really… sane.” Clint licked his lips and looked away from Coulson. “Me and Barney joined the Circus after our parents died in a car crash. Our father was an abusive drunk. During training, Trick could be worse than our dad ever was.”

“Then why did you think he would go hero?” Coulson asked.

“He was a taskmaster, and he’d smack you around if you fucked up during training, but it was cuz he wanted you to do good.” Clint looked back to Coulson. “When he talked about the future, about the changes he would make if he were in charge, it always seemed like he wanted to make the world a better place.”

“What kinds of changes did he talk about making?”

“All kinds. He wanted to stop violence against what he called the uninvolved. That just cuz someone lived in an area where there was fighting between a villain and a hero didn’t mean you were allowed to hurt them to hurt the people you’re fighting.”

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Coulson said with a sharp nod. He stood, pulled his cell phone from a jacket pocket, and started texting rapidly.

It seemed that Clint had given Coulson the information he needed. A wave of fear washed over him. “Agent Coulson?”

“Yes,” Coulson answered absentmindedly.

“What’s gonna happen to me?”

Coulson lowered his phone and looked at Clint. “The way I see it, there are two options: I call the police and you go to jail for burglary, or you help me take down your old teacher.”

That was no choice at all. “Can I at least tell Barney what’s happened?”

Coulson tilted his head in thought. “I can’t let you go, I don’t know that you’d come back.”

Clint could accept that. He wasn’t trustworthy, and he knew it. “Could I at least write him a message and leave it at one of our drops?”

Coulson brought clint a pad of paper and a pen. “No funny business,” he said as he removed his cuffs. “You only have one chance, and if you try to make a move you will spend the best years of your life in a cell.”

Clint nodded. He didn’t have any intention of trying to escape. Fate had brought him to the man trying to take down his old teacher. He felt obligated to help. He bent his head over the pad of paper and started to write.

 

B,

Tonight I learned that Trick has gone bad in the worst way. Some people need my help to take him down. I’m sorry I can’t tell you all this in person, it’s not safe.

Be good while I’m gone. Don’t try to pull any big jobs without me, and don’t drink too much. I’ll be back in D.C. before you know it. I love you.

-C


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank my lovely beta, Jo, for helping me whip this chapter into shape.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting. It's what helps me keep going when the writing gets tough. I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

Coulson drove Clint to the drop site, a dumpster in a back alley behind a long-closed pizzeria. “I’ll be right back,” Clint said as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

 

“Wait,” Coulson said as Clint reached for the door handle. Clint twisted in his seat to face the other man. “Does Barney have enough money to make it through the next week or two without you?”

 

Clint considered for a moment before answering. They were cash poor right now, but then again they always were. He didn’t think Barney would try to pull any jobs without him, but Barney was the better pickpocket of the two of them, so he would be able to get cash if he needed it. “No,” he finally admitted, “but I think he’ll be okay.”

 

Coulson pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket, pulled out a stack of cash thick enough to surprise Clint. He held the stack out to Clint. “Leave this for him” he said, “that way he can just lay low while you’re gone.”

 

Clint eyed the cash, but didn’t reach for it. “We don’t need charity.”

 

“Call it a loan. You can pay me back after we’re done in the North-West.”

 

Clint took the money. He counted it out quickly. “There’s over $400 here. That’s more than we normally take in in a month.” He split the stack and held half out to Coulson, carefully not looking at his face. He didn’t want to see pity painted in those kind eyes.

 

“We can’t be sure as to how long you’ll be gone,” Coulson said. “Give it to him. I don’t want you to have to worry about his hide while you’re gone.”

 

Clint nodded and got out of the car. He still didn’t like the idea of borrowing so much money, but his brother would be okay. He could always turn back to pickpocketing if Clint didn’t get back before the cash ran out. He pulled a tattered shoe box from underneath the dumpster, slipped in the cash with the note folded around it, and kicked the box back under the dumpster.

 

“Ready?” Coulson asked once Clint had climbed back in the car.

 

“Yeah,” Clint said.

 

They drove in silence. Clint leaned his head against the window and watched the city roll by. He worried for his brother. Barney had a drinking problem. It was one of the reasons why Clint had insisted they stay small time, despite the fact that they were both good enough to pull off major heists. He worried that with so much money around and no Clint to keep an eye on him Barney would drink the cash away and be left worse off than if he’d had to scrape by. Clint shook his head. There was nothing that he could do for it now.

 

They got across the city more quickly than he would have expected, even at two in the morning. Within half an hour, Coulson parked in the loading zone in front of an unassuming government building. If he’d had to guess what the building was used for, Clint would have gone for something along the lines of a secondary or tertiary IRS building, somewhere they sent the lackeys who’d worked long enough to earn a promotion but weren’t good enough to take a position with any power. He would, of course, have been wrong.

 

Coulson walked Clint inside the building. The were was a petite redhead waiting for them in them in the lobby. She couldn’t have been older than eighteen.

 

“Clint,” Coulson said, “this is Agent Romanoff. She’ll show you the mess and find you somewhere to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” With that, he spun on his heel and walked out the door before Clint could think to say anything.

 

“Forgive his rudeness,” Agent Romanoff said, her voice tinged with a light accent Clint couldn’t quite place, something Eastern European. “I hear someone broke into his apartment tonight.”

 

“Y’know,” Clint said, running a hand through his short hair, “I heard the same thing.”

 

He was rewarded with a small twitch of the corners of Romanoffs lips. “Food, then sleep,” she stated, all business.

 

Clint ate a turkey and swiss sandwich, the kind you usually find in vending machines, prepackaged and cut into triangles, as they walked through the halls. He tried to keep track of their path but found it difficult. The halls were haphazard, warren like. Eventually they came to an elevator, which they took to the sixth sub-basement. Three rights, a left, and another right brought them to a long hall with a door every ten feet along one of the walls. They stopped at the fourth door.

 

“This is you,” Romanoff said. “Don’t wander off, I’ll be back for you at 0800.” she gave him a small smile before walking away with a wave over her shoulder.

 

Clint stood in the hall for a minute. He was sorely tempted to explore, to learn the lay of the floor, at the very least. Instead, he opened the door he had been left at. This was probably a test; one he did not wish to fail.

 

He flicked on the lightswitch and closed the door behind him. The room was sparse, with little more than a twin bed and a nightstand. There were three doors. One, he knew led to the hallway. On investigation, he found that the other doors led to a closet and a small bathroom.

 

He removed his shoes and jacket, turned off the light, and climbed into bed. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

 

\---

 

Clint woke to a knocking sound, finding himself in a dark room. He was in a bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept in an actual bed. He froze waiting to remember where he was.

 

“Mr. Barton?” a female voice called, one he recognized. The night before came rushing back to him. He relaxed, knowing that he was (probably) safe. The knocking came again. “Clint, are you in there?”

 

“Yeah,” he called, his voice rough with sleep. “Just give me a minute. He climbed out of the bed, regretting leaving it more with every movement, His head was killing him. He stumbled across the room and smacked at the lightswitch, flinching when the room filled with brilliant white light. Once his eyes had adjusted, he slipped into his shoes and went into the bathroom to take a piss and splash his face with cold water.

 

Before going to the door he considered his jacket, which he’d left flung over the bedside table. He didn’t think he would need it, but he didn’t know if he would be coming back to this room. Eventually, he decided to bring it with him.

 

Agent Romanoff led him to a cafeteria. He didn’t think it was the same one as the night before but decided not to ask. It was crowded and loud. Clint froze in the doorway. He wasn’t so good with crowds. Sure, it was fun to perform for one, but being in the middle of one was… not fun.

 

Romanoff took one look at his face before pulling him out of the room and down the hall. “You wait here, I’ll be back with food,” she said. She disappeared through the doors before he could tell her he was fine. She probably wouldn’t believe him, anyways.

 

Clint leaned a shoulder against the wall and watched the doors. He found himself liking Agent Romanoff, even though they had barely spoken. She was the first person in his memory to actually help rather than tell him to man the fuck up when his claustrophobia hit. He shook his head. He wasn’t going to be here long, he shouldn’t be looking to make friends.

 

He didn’t have to wait long for Romanoff. Within five minutes, she came out of the cafeteria carrying a tray loaded with two plates and two cups of coffee. She walked past him without saying a word, and he turned to follow.

 

They ended up sitting on the poorly maintained grass in front of the building with the tray in between them. Romanoff took her coffee black, Clint took his with three packets of sugar and half of a creamer. they both ate toast, bacon, and a fruit salad of apples, grapes, pears, and pineapples.

 

“Why does this place look so…” Clint trailed off.

 

“Rundown, unimportant?” Romanoff filled in for him. Clint nodded. “SHIELD does a lot of good work. We fill in the gaps that homeland security can’t. It’s the dirty work, but it’s also the work that can draw attack. It’s everything from taking out foreign assassins or domestic terrorists to fighting super villains. That makes us a lot of enemies.” She paused to take a bite of toast. “It was decided that our headquarters should be unassuming, that way it wouldn’t be a place likely to be attacked. I don’t know how well that’s worked, but I’m not the one making decisions.”

 

Clint nodded. He understood seeking safety by blending in. It was how a thief survived.

 

After they finished eating, Romanoff walked Clint to medical, dropping off their tray and mugs at a cafeteria, which he was sure was not the one they had visited earlier. Clint couldn’t help but wonder how many people lived and worked in the building.

 

At medical, they removed his bandage, cleaned his wound, and applied three butterfly stitches. He was told to keep it clean and then gently ushered out the door, to where Romanoff was waiting for him.

 

“Don’t you have anything better to do than show some random thief around?” he asked her.

 

“Nope,” she answered. “I’m not required for anything this morning except the meeting we’re due at next. Speaking of…” she glanced at her watch and started walking briskly down the hall. Clint had to jog a few steps to catch up. “Besides, we wouldn’t want some random thief wandering around SHIELD headquarters.”

 

Clint was sure that if she were the type to smile, which she wasn’t, she would be, so he grinned for the both of them as they walked through the busy halls. It wasn’t even ten yet, and today was already turning out to be one of the best days of his life.


	3. Chapter Two

 

Clint was following Romanoff through SHIELD headquarters. They took an elevator to the top floor. Every person they passed there was wearing hand tailored clothing worth more than he really wanted to think about. He felt out of place in his tattered jeans and ill-fitting t-shirt. He shook his head at himself. Romanoff was dressed just as casually as him and seemed perfectly comfortable. The suits were like a uniform for the people who worked on the floor.

 

They came to a corner office. Romanoff knocked twice on the door. After a moment, a familiar voice told them to come in.

 

The room was large with floor to ceiling windows in place of two walls. Simple black and white cityscapes decorated the other two walls. Clint recognized New York, San Francisco, Seattle, Austin, and Tallahassee. There were numerous others he’d never seen.

 

Agent Coulson sat behind a simple desk with one of the windows to his back. Her was typing rapidly and didn’t look away from his monitor as they entered the room.

 

“Clint, Nat, take a seat,” Coulson said. “This won’t take me more than a minute or two.” They both sat in comfortable wooden chairs across the desk from him. Clint glanced at Romanoff and wondered what Nat was short for while they waited. Natalie? Natasha? Was it just Nat?

 

“There we are,” Coulson said, leaning back in his chair. “Report,” he ordered, looking straight at Romanoff.

 

She squared her shoulders before she started talking. “Smart, if uneducated. Follows social cues when he doesn’t know what to do. Quiet, but well spoken.”

 

“And last night’s test?” Coulson asked.

 

“Passed with flying colors,” she stated. Clint smiled to himself. He’d thought that leaving him without supervision the night before was a test and was glad to have that confirmed.

 

“Any issues?” Coulson asked.

 

“He exhibited claustrophobia on entering the cafeteria this morning. I’d be careful about sticking him in any tight spaces.”

 

“Tight spaces aren’t a problem,” Clint cut in. They both looked at him, seeming surprised that he had spoken up.

 

“What was the problem, then?” Coulson asked.

 

“Crowded rooms,” Clint said. “I actually like tight spaces, but crowds in an enclosed space freak me out. You always end up getting touched by strangers.” He stopped talking, not knowing if he’d said too much.

 

Coulson nodded as though making a mental note. “And your skills?”

 

“Um,” Clint said dumbly. He knew lives would depending on him being able to do everything he said he could. He decided to be completely honest. “I can shoot anything and hit the bullseye of a target eight times out of ten. Give me a compound bow or a sniper rifle with adjustable sights and my average goes up to nearly perfect. I can pick any lock that takes a key, but it may take me a while. I can win in a bar fight, but I’d probably get my ass kicked if I was up against someone who knew how to fight. I can walk roofs and climb air ducts to break into just about anywhere.” he paused for a moment before going on. “Also, there’s a reason i was called The Amazing Hawkeye when I was with the circus and it wasn’t just my sharp-shooting. Put me somewhere with a good vantage point and I can keep track of the actions of everyone I can see.”

 

Coulson smiled widely. “it sounds like you’ll be quite useful, then. How are you with knives?”

 

“Don’t know how to fight with ‘em, but I can throw them with about the same accuracy as I can shoot a pistol.”

 

Coulson nodded and looked at Romanoff. “Nat, do you think you’d trust him in the field?”

 

She tilted her head in thought. “If he’s as good as he says he is, yes. In fact, he seems ideal.”

 

“That’s what I thought,” Coulson said. He turned back to Clint. “Would you prefer a rifle or a bow?”

 

“Bow,” Clint answered automatically. While he was good with a rifle, the bow had always been an extension of himself. Trick used to joke that he’d been born with one in his hands.

 

“Nat, take him downstairs and get him outfitted. Both of you, meet me at the helipad at 0500 tomorrow morning. I’ll fill you in on the plan on the flight. Dismissed.” He’d returned his attention to his computer before either of them had even stood from their char.

 

“I’m not sure I followed all of that,” Clint said when they’d reached the hallway and closed the door behind them.

 

“Don’t worry, you did well,” Romanoff said, setting off down the hall.

 

“What did you mean, saying I’d be ‘ideal’?” he asked, following her.

 

“To be my partner on the op,” she said. “I need someone to keep an eye out and watch my back without getting in my way. An intelligent, observant, sniper is the perfect partner.” She flashed him the smallest of smiles, the corners of her mouth raising the smallest amount. To Clint, it felt like a victory.

 

“Does that mean I can call you Nat?”

 

“Call me whatever you want, but I’m Black Widow on the comms.”

 

* * *

 

The weapons range was amazing, like nothing Clint had seen in his life. It took up half of an entire sub basement level and had every weapon he could think of and then some. There were dozens of bows, at least fifty types of arrows from the simplest of target arrows to barbed arrows designed to be nearly impossible to pull out without doing more damage than being shot. Arrows tipped with explosives or tranq darts to take someone down without doing them any damage. Clint was in heaven.

 

By lunch, he’d narrowed his selection down to ten bows and seventeen types of arrow.

 

Nat showed Clint to a cafeteria for lunch. He was the same one they had visited the night before. There were only about twenty people inside, including staff..

 

“This is the least popular cafeteria in the compound,” Nat said as they walked through the line, filling their trays. “The food isn’t as good as the other two, but there’s more elbow room.”

 

Clint filed the information away, not sure if he would ever use it. From the sound of things they would be leaving tomorrow, and he had no intention of coming back to SHIELD headquarters when they were done.

 

They ate at an empty table large enough to comfortably seat six. Clint had the best meatloaf of his live and couldn’t help but wonder how good the food was in the other cafeterias if this was the worst SHIELD had to offer.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Clint asked as they ate.

 

“Sure,” Nat answered.

 

“You know what I’m good for. I feel like if we’re going to be partners I should know what you do in the field.”

 

Nat nodded and set down her utensils. “I’m an infiltrator,” she said. “I was trained as a spy and assassin for over ten years.” Clint raised his eyebrows. How young was she when her training started? Who trained children to kill? He elected not to ask, guessing he wouldn’t like the answer. “I’m an expert at hand-to-hand combat. I’m most comfortable with knives, but I can and do use a gun when needed. My job is to get to wherever I’m needed and either extract information from or take out targets.”

 

“Sounds like you’re a one-woman army,” Clint said admiringly. “Why do you need me?”

 

“When you’re in the middle of the action it can be hard to keep an eye on everything going on. I need you to watch my back.”

 

Clint nodded. It was nice to know that someone so obviously proficient needed him. It made him feel like he could actually be useful.

 

When they had finished eating they went back to the weapons range. After an hour of shooting, Clint had finally chosen his bow, a sighted compound that would be accurate up to five hundred feet, and three quivers of arrows: broadhead, double barbed, and tranq, respectively. He also chose a Stark Industries pistol in case he got into a tight situation where he would need to defend himself. He hoped it would be enough.

 

Nat and Clint left the weapons range. clint had the quivers hanging from one shoulder and his new bow in a case hanging from the other. They walked to outfitting, which took up the other half of the sub-basement housing the weapons range.

 

He was given new clothing. There were several close-fitting t-shirts that apparently had kevlar mixed into the weave. Pants with an oddly large amount of stretch in the groin. A watch so complicated that he thought it would take him at least a week to figure out all of the settings. Two bulletproof vests were added to the pile. Socks, underwear, new boots, and a heavy jacket came last. Clint carefully folded and placed his new clothing in a duffel bag. He was sure this was the most new clothes he’d ever had at once.

 

“One last thing,” Nat said, holding something out to him on a flat palm.

 

Clint took the thing from her and turned it over in his hands. It was rectangular and flat, about two inches by a half inch. On one end there was a small rubbery thing with a hole in the middle, at the other there were three small holes. In the middle, there was a rubbery but stiff half circle on one side and a button on the other side. “Okay, I give up,” he said after examining it. “What is it?”

 

Nat exhaled quickly through her nose. Clint suspected she was laughing. “It’s an earpiece. You put the rubber thing in your ear, and the round thing over and behind your ear like glasses. Here,” she took the earpiece from him and inserted it in her right ear. She pulled it out and held it out to him again.

 

“Is there a way to switch it over to fit in the left ear?” Clint asked, not taking it. He tried to keep his expression neutral but wasn’t sure of how successful he was.

 

“Yeah,” Nat said, quickly pulling the half-circle thing off, flipping it over, and pushing it back into place with a click. “Why do you want it on the left ear instead of the right?” she asked, holding it out to him yet again.

 

Clint took the earpiece from her and inserted in his ear as he’d been shown. “I don’t hear so well on the right side. I don’t want to fuck things up because I misheard an order.”

 

Nat nodded, satisfied with his answer. “How’s it feel?”

 

He swung his head back and forth a few times before answering. “A bit tight inside my ear.”

 

She held out her hand and Clint gave her the earpiece. She pulled off the round rubbery thing and replaced it with one slightly smaller before handing it back. “How’s that?”

 

Clint put the earpiece in and swung his head around again. “Much better.”

 

“Good,” Nat said. “It works simply enough. Press and hold the button to turn it on and off, change channels by pressing the button quickly. The mic turns on automatically when you speak, so you don’t have to worry about pressing buttons once the mission is going.”

 

Clint nodded. “Sounds easy enough. I don’t think it’ll give me any problems.”

 

“Good,” she said. “You go put all of your new gear in your room, then meet me in the lobby in fifteen.”

 

They ate at a taco truck a few blocks from SHIELD. When they got back, Clint went straight to bed. Morning was fast approaching.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for discussion of child abuse in this chapter.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting. It's what keeps me working when the words get hard.

Clint settled into the seat next to Agent Coulson in the back of a private jet owned by SHIELD. Nat would be piloting as they flew to Seattle. They had gone over the plan during the short helicopter ride from SHIELD to Dulles International Airport.

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. The plan hinged on him seeing and reporting on everything going on. If he fucked up or things went south, it would be his job to put an arrow in Trick. He wasn’t sure he would be able to do it.

“Nervous about the mission?” Coulson asked after take-off, apparently reading Clint’s mind.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Coulson twisted in his seat to face Clint.

Clint met Coulson’s gaze, fully intending to keep things to himself. One look at those kind eyes changed his mind. He knew Coulson wouldn’t think him weak. “I don’t know if I can do it,” he said quietly.

“Do what?” Coulson asked, frowning slightly.

“I don’t know if I can kill him.” Clint looked at his hands where they lay folded in his lap.

“Have you ever…” Coulson trailed off.

Clint shook his head. “I learned to shoot so that it could be a part of mine and Barney’s act. The closest I’ve come to shooting someone was the time I missed a target during practice and Barney fell off the high-wire into the net when he ducked. I don’t know that I could put an arrow in someone.” He didn’t break eye contact with his hands as he spoke.

“This may sound callous,” Coulson started, “but I’ve found that anyone can kill, given the right circumstances.” Clint looked up at him. “For some it’s for the mission. For others it’s to protect their own hide. For most SHIELD agents, for me, it’s to protect innocents.”

Clint turned that over in his mind for a moment. “That seems so abstract,” he said finally. “And I don’t know that I believe in anything so ideal as innocence.”

Phil nodded. “How about to protect Nat, then? She’s going to be depending on you to keep her safe. Could you kill to keep her alive?”

Clint frowned at his hands again. He liked Nat. She was intelligent, competent, and seemed like someone who could grow to be a friend, given enough time. He barely knew her, but he liked her. He didn’t want her to die. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I think I could do that.”

They fell into a (mostly) comfortable silence. Agent Coulson did paperwork. Clint noted that he had beautiful handwriting. It was looping and easy to read, and he always put enough space after a period so that the readers eye didn’t merge sentences together. He sighed and turned to look out the window. They were flying over a veritable sea of farms.

“What’s wrong?” Coulson asked.

“Huh?” Clint asked.

“You sighed.”

“Oh, um, I guess I’m mostly just bored and nervous.” Clint answered.

“Mostly?”

Clint rolled his eyes and looked away from the window. He sighed again, trying to figure out what to say.

“Is it Barney?” Coulson asked.

Clint’s head shot up. “I’ve gotta get some of you SHIELD guys training, accurate mind reading would be a star act in the circus.”

Coulson laughed. It was a bright sound, one that made immediately want to laugh along. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What’s the point?” Clint said. “I’m gonna be worried until I get home and see how he did without me, regardless of whether I talk about it or not.”

“Would it make you feel better?” Coulson asked earnestly.

“I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head. “It might even make me worry more.”

Coulson nodded. “Fair enough. Let me know if you change your mind, or need to talk about pretty much anything.”

“Thanks,” Clint said. He didn’t intend to take him up on the offer, but it was genuinely nice to hear.

“I mean it.”

“I know.” And he did. That didn’t mean that he had any intention of going to the other man with his worries.

They lapsed into silence again, less comfortable this time. Coulson went back to his paperwork and Clint went back to staring out the window. It felt like there was far more than eight inches between them, but an unspannable gulf instead. Clint decided to let that gap lie as it was. He wasn’t going to be with these people forever. Opening up to Coulson or Nat would only mean pain for him when it was time to leave.

They passed twenty minutes like that, in silence other than the hum of the engines and the scratching of Coulson’s pencil on paper. Eventually, Coulson finished his work, tapped the papers into a neat pile, and slipped them into his briefcase.

“Clint?” Coulson said. He waited for Clint to turn to look at him. “There’s one thing I need to talk to you about, and then we can be as quiet as you like for the rest of the flight.

“Shoot,” Clint said.

“Yesterday, while you were being outfitted, you told Nat that you have hearing loss in your right ear.” Coulson paused, watching Clint for a reaction. “It’s not a problem, but why didn’t you mention it during our meeting?”

Clint cursed to himself. That would teach him better than to spend time around spies. They had no respect for privacy. “It didn’t seem relevant at the time,” he answered.

“I know this probably doesn’t matter to you,” Coulson said, “since you’re not going to be with SHIELD for more than one mission, but it’s a handler’s job to decide what is relevant. Luckily, I didn’t plan to place you somewhere where you would need to be able to hear exactly what’s going on around you, but if I had it would have been a major problem.”

“Sorry,” Clint said. “I’d say that I won’t do it again, but we both know that it wouldn’t matter in a week.”

“How about, to make it up to me, you tell me how it happened.”

“How do you know I wasn’t born this way?”

Coulson just gave him a look.

“It’s not a pretty story.”

“Most aren’t.”

Clint sighed. For a moment he considered lying or even refusing to speak, but decided against it. He doubted it would go over very well. “You gotta promise not to interrupt.”

“I can do that,” Coulson said.

“And you gotta tell me your name.”

“Why?” He seemed surprised by the request.

“I don’t think I can tell Agent Coulson this story, but maybe I can tell you.”

Coulson nodded. “It’s Phil.”

Clint sighed, leaned his head back against his seat, and rubbed his eyes before starting. “My father was both verbally and physically abusive. Most of the time Barney or our Mom caught the brunt of it, but not always. When I was six, I came home with a ‘C’ on a math test. I could smell cheap whiskey when I walked through the door.” He leaned forward and turned his head head to meet Phils eyes. They were calm and held no judgement. “I tried to hide it from him. He saw it anyways. It started with shouting. It always did. I was stupid, a waste of space, I’d never amount to anything. Nevermind the fact that I was six and struggling with the finer points of double-digit subtraction. When he was done shouting he started in with his fists.” He paused to put his words together, swallowed hard, and went on. “I don’t know how long the beating lasted. I woke up in the hospital covered in bruises, with a nasty concussion, and a burst right eardrum. I still have about sixty percent hearing loss on that side. He told the police that I’d got beaten up on my way home from school. I guess they bought it, ‘cause they came and asked me who the other boys were. I knew better than to say anything.”

Phil’s eyes were gentle. He didn’t offer meaningless platitudes or try to relate. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said instead. At that moment moment, Clint realized that Phil was someone he could not only come to like, but respect. For the first time, he regretted that he wouldn’t be sticking around with SHIELD when this was all said and done.

The rest of the flight passed in a comfortable silence. Phil pulled out another pile of seemingly endless paperwork. Clint found a tattered copy of American Gods by Neil Gaiman in overhead stowage. He liked Shadow.


End file.
